There is no proceeding, only reckoning—reckoning with the past, the stridency and confusion of the past. Maybe maturity comes this way, gradually, through perpetual self-deconstruction and reconstruction… macrophagal action within the soul.
It’s useful to think of Kafka as the first filmmaker; it doesn’t matter that Kafka, of course, did not make a film, and had no connection to filmmaking. His great stories and novels are the first examples of great screenplays, and express all the latent possibilities of cinema where word and image begin to fuse, and symbols become purely expressive.
There was a time, most particularly during the pandemic when Twitter was a critical tool of awareness-raising and spiritual resistance—despite, as we know now, the companies own internal agenda–but, now, it’s just and I say this (with a kind of nightmarish awareness of my own addiction and hypocrisy) a huge time suck.
Does mind create thought, or thought mind?
I end the year with a deep feeling of precarity, and a reminder that this is what the artist’s life means.
My external personality is a cover for my inner-life. Most of what I call my personality is just a shield, to allow Me to continue unabated within.